


joke me something awful

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: He remembered Ron's body; bruised, bloody, broken, on his kitchen floor.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Kudos: 14





	joke me something awful

**Author's Note:**

> My second upload for today, hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> Title from Fall Out Boy's _I've Got A Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth._
> 
> Beta'ed by Raven, mistakes are my own.

The sky was overcast, bathing the kitchen in a dull, impersonal grey. Harry had just flicked on the kettle when Tom came in, running a hand through dishevelled hair.

"'Morning," he said, voice as blank as ever, and Harry returned the greeting in kind, spooning coffee and sugar into his cup. Tom sent it a look of disgust and busied himself with a teabag.

A bottle of red wine sat on the table, nearly empty, and Harry finished it off while waiting for his coffee to cool. He idly ran his fingers over the gouges in the wood, marks from last night, from ten years ago.

They reminded him of the wounds, deep, dark, all-encompassing, scratched over the very essence of his being. They hurt, they hurt so much, and he was sick and wrong for staying here with Tom, but he had nowhere else. He had no one else anymore.

Tom offered a pill of unknown origin, small, white, potent, _innocent_ on the palm of his hand. Harry knocked it back with a sip of his coffee. 

He remembered Ron's body; bruised, bloody, broken, on his kitchen floor. He remembered _Tom —_

The pill kicked in slowly, but by the time he finished his coffee, there was a movie grain haziness over everything. Tom sent him a dizzying smile across the table, and Harry sent a delirious, deranged one back.

The neighbour’s screams and yells forced themselves through the walls. Harry tilted his head back, listening to the ambience. There was a sense of… _musicality_ to it, and he hummed gently.

He wasn't feeling much of anything; echoes of preestablished sounds bounced through his head, his arms and legs said _yes_ and _no_ when he thought of moving them.

Tom said something quietly, and Harry looked up at him. He was slumped against the wall, _Not your concern_ repeated like a mantra under his breath. At some point, he'd acquired a bottle of whiskey, and he sipped on it leisurely.

He was handsome, Harry thought, felt, heard maybe. Perfectly proportioned; the pinnacle of man. And those curls, those damn soft curls falling into his dark eyes unless he styled them back. Harry used to think he loved Tom, but now he knew better. It was a shame he'd already fallen so deep he couldn't get out once more.

Harry stood up, filled with a strange energy, and his vision sparkled weirdly, splotches of black covering his eyes. He caught himself on the table, shuffling his way around to Tom, zombie-like. He collapsed on Tom's knee, snatching the bottle of whiskey from his hand and taking a swig. Tom watched him, eyes half-lidded, a lazy smile flirting with his lips.

"I fucking _hate_ you," Harry said, slurred more like, put the bottle on the table, and kissed Tom, clenching his shaking fists in the front of his rumpled button-down (they hadn’t changed in three days) and pulling their chests together. "You're the most infuriating asshole I've ever met, you— _you killed Ron_ —"

This time it was Tom who kissed Harry, forcefully, sloppily. His hands (his murderous hands, which had wrapped around Ron's neck and slammed his head into the countertop) grabbed Harry's thighs.

Harry hated, hated, _hated_ him so much, but he was all Harry had left. Parents; dead. Ron and Hermione; dead. The Dursleys; as good as.

All there was for Harry was Tom.

And Harry pushed himself up, hate lingering deep under his skin, sparking in his fingertips, etched into his sense of being, grabbed the bottle, stumbled to the bedroom.

"You coming?" he asked.

Tom stood up, followed, and knew Harry was just as trapped as he wanted him to be.


End file.
